This is a not-untypical day off: Janie and I went out for breakfast, we came home and hung out, took epic-length naps...That's about it. Right now she's watching Underworld on cable, a movie I don't care for but which I'm finding to be a perfect zone-out movie, something that can be on in the background and I can dip in and out of without any concern that I'm missing anything.
That's kind of the point of my life that I've reached, and honestly, I'm good with it. I'm no longer nagged by the feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something else. I haven't seen as much of the world as I might like, I've never finished, much less published, any of those novels I started, and I've sentenced myself to a life with a job, not a career, which means I'll never earn as much money as I thought I needed to be happy.
Thing is, though, I am happy. Mostly, anyway. It doesn't matter how worldly we are or what our income level is, life will always be made up of small, individual moments. And if more of those moments are joyous than sad, well, that's a life well-lived. As long as Janie and I can inexplicably burst into songs from Mary Poppins while snuggling in bed, as long as beloved beagle Isabella leaps like an overgrown bunny through snow banks, as long as Delmar growls, hisses and finally purrs when curled up on my lap...At times like those I feel love, both given and received. And what could produce greater happiness than that?
